


Calendar Man

by melagan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Stargate, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22053610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/pseuds/melagan
Summary: Non-stargate AU.  A stranger (John Sheppard) knocks on Rodney's door. He's stranded there for the night due to the weather.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 36
Kudos: 91





	Calendar Man

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a little something to celebrate the New Year.

Title: Calendar Man

Freezing rain hammered at the windows. Rodney grabbed a pan from under the sink knowing it was just a matter of time before the drip-drip-drip from the bedroom ceiling started. He had plans to fix the roof he really did. Just as soon as his next paycheck came in. 

Preoccupied with setting the pan down at the optimal angle, he almost didn't hear the knock at the door. Not until the knock became the insistent thump of a fist. 

"Keep your shirt on, I'm coming," Rodney yelled. He stomped to the door, ready to give whoever was on the other side a piece of his mind. What the hell was someone doing out here on the ass-end of the roadstead in this weather? 

Rodney opened the door and all his prepared words fell away at the sight of the ridiculously handsome drowned rat grinning back at him. 

"Hi there. Do you mind if I come in? It's a little damp out here."

Rodney's absent manners poked at his conscience. The stranger standing there looked soaked to the skin and his lips were starting to turn blue. 

"Right. What are you waiting for? Get in here. Unless you're a serial killer. You're not are you?"

The stranger quickly stepped inside. "Not a serial killer. Promise. Name's John Sheppard." He held out his hand. "And you are?"

"Dr. Rodney McKay. And let's save the handshake until your skin's not ice cold, shall we?"

"Oh. Probably a good idea." John stood in the middle of the room dripping and shivering with cold. "I don't suppose you have a towel?"

It only took a few minutes for Rodney to dig out a couple of towels from the pile of clean laundry and toss them at John. While at it, he rummaged around the pile long enough to find a pair of old, grey sweatpants and a blue, flannel shirt. 

He tossed them at Sheppard, too. "They're not quite as glamorous as that cashmere turtleneck and the wool slacks you have on, but they're dry. What the hell were you doing out in this weather without a coat on, anyway? Never mind, it's not like I really care, I was just curious what kind of idiot I was dealing with."

John's mouth dropped open as he wordlessly stared back at Rodney. 

"You're still dripping." Rodney pointed towards the kitchen. "Coffee will be that way. Do your drying-off thing while I put on a fresh pot." With a sniff, he added. "Don't be expecting any of that fancy, foamy, over-sugared crap either. Good coffee should never be despoiled like that."

"As long as it's hot," John said, wrapping one towel around his dripping, wet hair. "I'll just get changed while you—"

Rodney waved him off and headed for the kitchen. He began the process of making coffee with a quiet hum under his breath. He wasn't sure which soothed his nerves more, the ritual of making coffee or compiling the long list of questions he had for his unexpected guest. Something about the man seemed awfully familiar. If only he could put his finger on it. 

Deciding to put a modicum of effort into being a decent host, Rodney stepped through the doorway far enough to ask if John needed cream and sugar. John had pulled his shirt off and was wiping down his bare chest. 

"Oh my god, you're Mr. January!"

Dead silence hung in the air. Having outed himself in the most awkward way possible, Rodney finally managed to shift his obvious stare away from John's chest. 

John, who still had yet to say a word, merely quirked one eyebrow. 

"Kitchen," Rodney blurted. "I'll be there. In the kitchen. The area with coffee," he added, wincing at the squeak in his voice. Heat burst across his cheeks and he fled back into the kitchen.

Should he try to explain that the calendar had been a gift from his sister? No. Not unless he wanted to blunder into an awkward confession. 

With his rakish, dark hair, lithe hips, and full mouth Mr. January made just the thought of sex seem dangerous. Add to that the glimmer of intelligence behind those amused, hazel eyes and Rodney turned into a wibbling mess. Admittedly, a wibbling mess with a hard-on. 

To his mind, Mr. January stood out far and above the other musclebound, blond himbos of the month and Rodney had the worn calendar page to prove it.

~*~

Rodney just finished pouring the coffee when John, fully dressed except for his bare feet, ambled in the kitchen.

"Coffee smells great." He held up his cell phone. Water slowly dripped from a crack in the corner. "It fell into a puddle of ice water."

"I'm not sure there's enough rice in the state to help with that. But if you want to try, the rice is on the top shelf behind you. Bowls are in the cupboard to your left."

John just looked at him, clearly waiting for some other response.

"What!?'

Enunciating each word slowing and distinctly, John asked, "Do you have a phone I can use?"

"Somewhere," Rodney huffed. "I hate the damn things. I haven't even seen mine in two days."

John took a deep breath. "Rodney—my car is sitting in an icy ditch with a flat tire and it's already getting dark. Unless you want me to be here all night, I need to call a tow truck."

Rodney snorted. "Good luck with that. Grodin owns the only tow truck in town and right now he's out driving the sand truck."

While John buried his phone in the rice, Rodney pulled out the Crown Royal. He poured a generous slug into his coffee mug and, at John's nod, did the same for him.

John took a ready sip and sighed gratefully. Rodney's eyes followed every movement of his tongue as John licked his lips. 

Smiling over the top of his mug, John dryly admitted, "I can see why you haven't got any use for froo-froo coffee."

Rodney tore his gaze away. Noticing John's pink toes, he said, "Let's take this into the living room. At least there's a rug on the floor and I'll start a fire. I might even find some clean socks." 

The odds of finding clean socks weren't high. Rodney rarely wore them and he couldn’t remember when he'd last had a matching pair.

"Um, you can look through the couch cushions for my phone while I get a fire started."

~*~

Just because he'd never bothered with the fireplace before in his tiny saltbox of a house didn’t mean he couldn't figure it out. He pulled out the damper rod. Frowned and pushed it back in. Matches. Kindling. Check.

"Problem?" 

Rodney jumped. John had silently snuck up behind him and was leaning over his shoulder. 

"Who designed these things anyway?! Stupid piece of— Rodney hung his head. I'm an energy consultant for pity's sake. This thing should not be that hard."

"If it makes you feel any better, McKay, I almost lost my hand in your couch cushions." John plucked the matches out of his hand. "I'll do this, you go couch mining. And watch out for that loose spring. It almost took a bite out of me."

With John so close, Rodney could smell his aftershave. Or maybe it was his skin? His shampoo? He closed his eyes for a moment. Now that he knew how good Mr. January smelled it made all his past fantasies pale in comparison.

John got the fire going in a disgustingly short amount of time.

Shaking his head in bemusement, Rodney took a seat on the couch while John sat down in the one comfortable chair in the room.

"Are you this good at everything?" Rodney asked.

"Not everything." He pulled up his sleeve to show him the long, red scratch mark on his arm. "I failed at couch diving." 

"That reminds me, I found my phone and put it on the charger." Rodney nodded towards the black sky outside the window. "At best, your car is sitting out there in the dark in a block of ice. I'd advise waiting until tomorrow when it warms up before you try to dig it out."

"Yeah, good thinking. Besides, it's actually pretty comfy here." John dug his toes into the brightly colored braided rug and stretched with his arms high up over his head. 

Rodney's mouth went dry. A missing button made the flannel shirt gap open revealing a trail of dark, soft-looking hair. He cast about desperately for something innocuous to say. Anything to distract him so that he wouldn't give in to the urge to crawl over on his knees and start licking John's torso. 

"How—" Rodney had to stop and breathe. 

"Hm?" John husked, watching Rodney through heavy-lidded eyes.

Oh, that bastard. John was doing this on purpose. "I…you…"

"Yes, me. And you. So far, you're batting a hundred." John smirked, and Rodney wanted to punch him in the head for it. 

Instead, he asked, "So, how does one get into the business of posing for calendars?"

John's eyes took on a dangerous gleam. "One for one, Rodney. You answer one of my questions and then I'll answer one of yours."

"I asked you first!"

"Ah, but as your guest, I get to go first," John drawled. 

"Is that a rule?" Rodney asked, wondering how he lost control of the conversation.

"It is." John leaned back in the overstuffed chair like a cat sprawled out in the sun. "How did you end up living here?"

"At the back end of Chevron Cove? I needed someplace remote enough that I could work without being disturbed."

John snorted. "I'd say you succeeded. I had to walk a half-mile after my car went off the road before I saw your lights."

"What were you doing out this way, anyway?" Rodney asked,

"Google maps. I didn't exactly intend to wind up here." Sheepishly, John rubbed the back of his neck. "It's possible my phone wasn't dropped by accident into that icy puddle as much as thrown into it. My turn. What kind of work do you do?"

"Wait!" Rodney replayed the conversation in his head. Crap. He had already asked a question. Damn it. He still didn't know how John ended up as Mr. January. He motioned for John to get on with it.

"What kind of work do you do?" John side-leaned towards him at an impossibly flexible angle. 

Rodney caught his breath. How did John do that? If he tried, he'd be crippled. 

Reluctantly, he dragged his brain back to the question. "I'm an energy expert. Right now, I'm working on a computerized system that will maximize solar panel efficiency. It's more complicated than I want to get into right now, but one of the perks is that I get paid to do video lectures from home." Rodney grinned. "Now it's my turn. How did you end up being Mr. January?"

"It's embarrassing, to be honest." John got up and poured them both another healthy slug of Royal Crown. Instead of sitting back down, he moved over to the fireplace and stared into the flames.

Just a Rodney was about to say, "Forget it," and apologize for making John feel uncomfortable, he began to speak. 

"It started out as a bet, so stupid that I don't even remember what it was, now. You need to understand that I was an awkward mess in my teens. Pimply, too scrawny for my height—the beanpole jokes—I'm sure you can imagine. My hair and its crazy cowlicks, well that part hasn't improved any. Part of me is still that embarrassed kid." 

With a wry smile, John shook his head. "I didn't need the money and I certainly didn't expect to land the calendar job. But people seemed to like what they saw." John turned to face him. So, tell me, Rodney, do you like what you see?"

Dumbstruck, Rodney nodded. 

"Good." John moved closer, his movements reminding Rodney of a cat on the prowl. 

"I like what I see, too, Rodney." John rubbed his thumb across Rodney's lower lip. "I think we could be very good together, even if it's only for one night."

Too stunned to speak, Rodney blinked up at him, finally remembering to at least nod his assent.

John took his hand and wove their fingers together. "Bedroom?"

"Yes. I have one." 

John huffed with gentle laughter. "Best place to look for a bed then. Lead on, McKay."

Wonderstruck, and still holding hands, Rodney led John into the bedroom. 

At least the bed had clean sheets. In all honesty, Rodney loved his bed. The deep, richly colored quilt was filled with soft down, and the mattress had just the right combination of firmness and bounce. He had a feeling he was going to love his bed even more after tonight.

He guided John around the half-filled pot of water. At least the roof had stopped leaking. "Sorry. It's probably not what you're used to…."

"You worry too much. It's cozy." John pulled Rodney close and husked in his ear, "If you have condoms, I'll fuck you."

"Yes, please." Rodney slapped his hand over his own mouth. 'I didn't mean to say that."

"I think you did," John said, with a predatory gleam in his eye. He began unbuttoning Rodney's shirt. "You have way too many clothes on."

"Lub-be is in the drawer next to the bed, I do-don't have any…" Rodney stuttered. God, he couldn't take his eyes off John's hands. 

Once John had Rodney stripped down to his boxers, he pulled a condom out of his shirt pocket. "Guess it's a good thing I saved this from the rain then. Don't look so surprised. I transferred from my pant's pocket when I changed clothes."

"Do you always carry a condom?" Rodney asked. 

"Not always, but aren't you glad I did this time?"

With the heat rising on the back of his neck, Rodney struggled to will his erection down. He didn't want this over before it started. Lube in hand, he turned to discover that John had already shed his clothes and made himself comfortable on the bed. 

"Come here," John patted the spot next to him. 

Rodney hesitated, not because he didn't want to, but because John was gorgeous; all tanned skin and lean muscle. John cock was already half-hard its head beginning to swell and turning a deep, rosy flush. Moving meant he'd have to tear his eyes away. He licked his lips. 

John gave a snort of amusing impatience and shook his head. "It's not all that remarkable, Rodney. Every guy has got one." 

Rodney crawled up on the bed. "Do you have any idea how many nights I lay here thinking about you—working myself open with my fingers and moaning your name?"

"You were moaning Mr. January?" John tsked. "Oh, Rodney, I think we can do much better than that." 

John traced Rodney's face with his fingertips. "Kiss me."

Well, that was a no-brainer. Seeing John's lust-darkened eyes, Rodney couldn't have resisted if his life depended on it. Horny enough to plunder John's mouth down to his tonsils, he was taken completely by surprise by the delicacy of John's return kiss. 

"I'm going to take my time with you," John said. 

His low, sultry voice went straight to Rodney's hindbrain and his cock stiffened.

As John's hands began roaming over his body Rodney's head fell back against the pillow. John lightly tapped his knee and Rodney let his thighs fall open.

John groaned. "I knew you'd be beautiful like this." He bent his head and placed a string of kisses along the crease of Rodney's inner thigh. 

"You're crazy," Rodney gasped. "And don't you dare stop."

Grabbing a pillow John shoved it under Rodney's ass. "I'm going to fuck you like this."

"Oh, god." Rodney did his best to pull his legs up higher. 

"Rest 'em on my shoulders," John directed, slowly circling Rodney's hole with his lubed fingers. "Now, talk to me."

"Talk? Now?" Rodney squeaked. 

"Tell me how you fucked yourself when you were thinking about me," John growled. "Say it."

"I—I used lube, lots of it."

John added more lube to Rodney's ass. 

"I like it when—oh god—when I press against my taint at the same time." Rodney drew in a shaky breath. "I'd reach behind and I put my thumb in me—"

"In where, Rodney?" John's hand stopped moving.

Fuck. John was really going to make him say it. "My ass. Asshole." Rodney bit his lip. "And I'd reach to rub myself with my fingers. Yessss, just like that."

"What else. 

"I'd touch my cock, just teasing myself at first. Until—"

"Go on," John demanded. 

"Damn you! Until—until I have to have more!"

"How many fingers did you use to fuck yourself on, Rodney?"

"Two! Two, damn it and then…." Rodney groaned. John had two fingers in his ass now and all he wanted to do was grind down onto them. "When I'm loose enough, I spread them."

"Like this?" John asked, sounding smug. "Do you use three fingers? Get yourself all wet and push them in hoping you'll feel full. Do you hear yourself begging for it?"

"I want to," Rodney rasped. "God, John, I want to. Please, please fuck me." Rodney tried to drive himself down onto John's fingers and then they were abruptly pulled away. "No!"

"Easy, I've got you." 

The blunt head of John's cock nudged at his asshole. Rodney squirmed, trying to get closer.

"That's right, John cooed. "Work your pretty ass onto my cock. That's where it belongs, where it's always belonged. 

With a grunt, John shoved the full length of his cock into Rodney's ass.

For a moment, the only sounds Rodney heard was John's harsh panting in his ear and the pounding of his heart. He felt full to bursting and still wanted more. He tugged at John's hair. "Move, damn you!"

John laughed. He hitched his hips, the heat of his cock filling Rodney's ass over and over as he found the perfect rhythm. He lifted one of Rodney's legs and changed the angle of his thrusts. 

Rodney howled. 

He woke up with John laying next to him, idly running his hands over Rodney's chest and shoulders.

"Er, sorry," Rodney sheepishly said. "Did you?"

"Oh, yeah. I never had anyone come so hard they passed out before. It was definitely a turn-on."

"Can we never talk about it again?" Rodney asked. 

Instead of passing off a casual answer, John turned serious. "People lie to me all the time. I never see their real faces, but god, Rodney, you're so pure. 

Rodney looked down at come drying on his chest and started laughing so hard he almost fell out of bed. 

"You know what I mean, McKay, I doubt it even crosses your mind to say something you don't honestly think."

~*~

Rodney got up early. Not so early that he didn't spend several long minutes appreciating the beauty of John Sheppard while he slept. Even his morning scruff only added to John's masculine grace.

Instead of reaching out to touch, Rodney turned away, hand clenched so hard it hurt. He no idea how he'd gotten so lucky, but he was under no illusions. They'd had one amazing night together, but that's all it could ever be. 

He'd always been painfully aware that people couldn't tolerate him for long. Why expect John to be any different? He needed to stop being stupidly hopeful and remember John's own words. _It's only for one night_. 

With a final firm admonishment to himself, Rodney straightened his shoulders and headed for the kitchen. No doubt all he needed was a good, hearty breakfast to get back on track. Pancakes would be just the thing. Besides, watching John lick the syrup from his fingers would give him jerk-off material for months. 

He'd just poured the batter in the iron frying pan when John ambled into the kitchen.

John leaned against the counter. His sweat pants dipped low, revealing the bite mark on his hipbone. Rodney stared, the events of last night replaying in his mind. 

"Careful there, bud, I think your pancake is burning." 

"What?" Rodney quickly turned, shocked to see the black smoke rising from the pan.

"Easy, I've got it." Deftly, John rescued the pan and dumped the burnt pancake into the trash.

"I called for you," Rodney blurted. 

John, about to pour more batter into the pan, paused. The pancake batter dribbled unnoticed down the side of the bowl. "Called who?"

"Grodin. He'll be by this morning with his tow truck and take you to your car. You—you can…your clothes are dry." Rodney offered up a feeble shrug. "I didn't think you'd want to stay any longer than you had to."

"You didn't think…?" John stared at him with an expression on his face that Rodney had no hope of interpreting. 

A horn honked. "That will be Grodin," Rodney pointed out. "Sorry, you didn't have time to finish breakfast."

"Right. I'll just go then."

Rodney shoved a paper bag into John's arms. "Your clothes."

With one last frustrated look, John took the bag of his belongings, slipped on his shoes and walked to the door. "Later, then."

"Sure. Later." Rodney knew there'd never be a later. John would be off to his glamorous life of photoshoots and adoring sycophants and never think of him again.

~*~

Three weeks later the weather finally took a break and the tang of an early Spring was in the air. Rodney stood outside, hands on his hips and looked up at his roof. The weatherman promised a glorious week of sunshine. He'd lost his last excuse to put off patching his roof.

John would know how to fix it. John had stepped into his life and fixed everything he'd touched. He'd even fixed Rodney. Sure, he was still bad with people, but now when he'd began to lose his patience, he'd remember John's soft smile and capable hands. 

That technique had done wonders for his career. Rodney could have done without the dopey smile comments, but at least his name was back on the lecture roster. Money was finally coming back in. Carrying the heartache that came with it would pass. It had to someday, didn't it?

How could he have been such an idiot to have fallen in love in just one evening? He pressed the heel of his hand over his chest and rubbed. Maybe it was time to admit he'd had a thing for Mr. January a lot longer than one night. 

The sound of an engine drew his attention. Rattling straight for him was a cherry red pick-up truck with a familiar head stuck out the window. 

Rodney's heart soared. John. It was John. The truck pulled up next to him and John jumped out. 

"What are you doing here?" Rodney asked. 

John stuck his thumbs in his belt loops making the tool belt sag down another inch. "I came to fix your roof."

Baffled, Rodney's mouth dropped open. "You came to fix…"

John looked unexpectedly flustered. "Look I—I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I'd have been back sooner but it took time to get out of my contracts. 

"You're really here! To stay?" Rodney couldn't have stomped down the rising hope if his life had depended on it.

John coyly smiled back at him. "If I'm going to be sleeping in your bed, I figure the least I can do is fix your roof."

"Oh, that's not the least you can do," Rodney said, grinning back. 

He grabbed John's hand and pulled him into the house. "The roof can wait another day, we got other kinds of catching up to do."

They got as far as the bedroom when Rodney came to an abrupt stop. He put his arms around John and hugged him tight. "You have no idea how much I missed you."

John kissed him. "I'm thinking it's just about as much as I missed you. God, Rodney, for a while it felt like someone had gouged a hole in my chest. And then, I figured out why you gave me the bum's rush. You really believed I'd reject you?"

"It wouldn't be the first time that happened," Rodney confessed. 

"Then they're all idiots and didn't deserve you." John leaned down and nuzzled at his neck.

Rodney tossed his head back and groaned. 

"You're absolutely right," John murmured against his skin, taking a brief detour to nibble at Rodney's ear. "The roof can definitely wait."

"Enough talking." Rodney began unbuttoning John's shirt. "Do you have any idea how stupidly romantic it is that you're still wearing my shirt?"

"I don't know that I'd call it, romantic…but we don't have to talk about it. Ever. Right?"

"Not as long as you get your clothes off in the next fifteen seconds. And, John?" Rodney husked, "leave on the toolbelt."

~*~


End file.
